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Baby

You came on Monday at one twenty nine
Squalling, wailing, furious package of mine

Compressed in a ball, tight folded, little
Pink faced, yelling, lungs so powerful

Coiled in your crib, I saw kismet
A beautiful, angelic, miracle infant

We had been given the most beautiful cherub
That had ever been gifted to any mother

Lo, all the other babies on the ward
Loved, cherished by deluded mothers adored

They didn't know they'd birthed monkeys
With red and shrivelled faces so very ugly

But, we had a smooth child fair of face
For such insightful recognition, we gave grace

I shared my Damascene insight with Mary Thorne
She said, 'I had one of those when my son was born'.
Monday, March 15, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: baby
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4/18/2021 9:21:58 PM # 1.0.0.559